airport as mechanical toy
On 11 November I was standing in a check-in queue at Heathrow's Terminal Three, on my way to Canada, when an announcement was broadcast, requesting 'cooperation' in the observation of a 2-minute silence. Few scenes in modern life are more redolent of a mechanical toy in action than a major airport during peak hours. The sensation of highly controlled, perpetual and repetitious movement is overwhelming. An atmosphere of fairytale entrancement suppresses the underlying panic that afflicts all sensible travellers (one reason I life artist Mariko Mori's projected work, Miko No Inori, or Shaman Girl's Prayer, with its plaintive incantation performed by Mori as plastic spiritual cyberbabe in the ultradesign of Osaka's Kansei airport). For those processing through this environment, a silence to honour the dead is reluctantly conceded (death may be imminent, after all), easily observed by those like me who still wait in a queue but almost impossible for the airline staff and travellers who have reached their moment of ecstatic confrontation at a desk. Almost imperceptibly, hush oozed downwards through Heathrow, a gentle slide that softened the outlines of jagged chatter, audio alerts, luggage belts and disembodied unwanted information speak. The mechanical toy took perhaps 128 second to crawl to a complete stop, then another 2 second to relocate its life force. (43-44).
Recent air travel entries by KF and Chuck resonate, for me, with this passage from Toop's book.